Scars
by Alastar
Summary: Scars. Emotional ones are easier to hide than physical ones. I have both. Some my own making, and others from the environment I live in. And now I'm suffering the consequences of my actions. *A Kate POV*


I am making a promise. Tommorow, Saturday, May 10, I WILL update Libby McIntire and Sixth. I'm just feeling a little swamped, and I needed a break. Something new. I always need something new.  
  
Listening to Moulin Rouge soundtrack soundtrack. Myyyyyyy gift is myyyyy song!  
  
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"Oh, damn!"  
  
You could see the scar. The deep red gash on my lower thigh. I had cut too low. "Damn..." I repeated, yanking off my new dress and throwing it on the bed. It had been a cute new dress too, expensive. I had bought it especially for the party. And I had gone and slashed my self in the wrong place.  
  
I had made that particular cut two weeks prior, and it was still very visible. I must have cut it awfully deep. I remember watching the blood run forever, disapearing in swirling water down the shower drain.   
  
The upper part of my arm was filled with scars. I was dreading summer, when tube tops and spaghetti straps were expected.   
  
I scavenged through the closet, searching for something I hadn't worn.  
  
No such luck, compadre.  
  
It was looking like I would have to make a last minute trip to the mall, just to cover up my scars.  
  
Real scars were so much harder to cover up than emotional ones. I had been covering up emotional ones for years. Like the fact my dad used to molest me, and then commited suicide. Or the fact my mom was always working and could care less about her only child, who has been told to her face she was a mistake. Or the simple little fact that I need someone to cling to; that I'm lonely and empty inside.  
  
Popularity is far overrated. Popular people are most like the lonliest people out there.  
  
I took a short look in the mirror as I picked up my purse. This was me. This is what I, Katherine Denise Sanders, had become. I was a tall, thin wisp of a thing with cute, shoulder length bobbing hair and a plastered on smile.   
  
I turned away, disgusted by myself.   
  
I grabbed my car keys of the vanit table and went outside.  
  
I had a bad habit of pushing things that were good for me away. Like my friendship with Lizzie, Gordo, and Miranda. Nothing was better for me than my real friends. I remember spending nights at Lizzie's house when Dad went into one of his rages, and crying in Gordo's arms the night he killed himself. Those tears were a mixture of joy and utter grief.   
  
I remember everything about every moment I spent with them.  
  
And I remember the second I turned them away.  
  
I also pushed away another thing, something that I desperately needed. True love.   
  
Ethan and I had been going out since the summer before high school started, and I loved him. I truly loved him. But in high school Ethan and the popular crowd started to gain space between them, and before I knew it, it was sophmore year and Claire told me out flat that I needed to dump him.  
  
I did, of course. I let everybody else run my life and never did anything for myself.  
  
I started doing things I shouldn't after that. I started going to wild parties and drinking a lot and sleeping around. I became addicted to cocaine, an expensive habit to satisfy.   
  
I slept with so many guys, I didn't even know who the father was when I got pregnant. Someguy at Dalton Mabry's New Year's Party, I was guessing, or some guy I meet through Claire. I didn't know.   
Claire told me if I didn't get an abortion, my life would be ruined, and no one would ever speak to me again.  
  
So I did.  
  
That was last year. Maybe I got sick last year. I don't know when I got sick, and I don't care. I just know that I am sick, and I'm going to die. Die, die, die. I'm a senior in high school. I have my whole life ahead of me. At least, I should. I shouldn't be dying. But I am.  
  
I am HIV-positive.   
  
I haven't slept with a guy since the day I found out one month ago. I've just cut myself, knowing that is dangerous, too. The disease is in my blood, and if my blood gets in anyone, they will get sick, too.  
  
I picked out a dress, and handed it to the checkout clerk.  
  
I kind of don't mind knowing I'm going to die. At least dying will get me out of this hell. Although it will probably send me to another one.  
  
"Kate?"  
  
I closed my eyes as I heard Ethan's voice behind me. I hair on my arm stood on end, and I had trouble breathing. I still loved Ethan. I loved more than anyone could imagine. But although he wasn't really popular, he still had tons of girlfriends (one at a time, of course). I turned around. "Hello, Ethan," I whispered, clutching my dress close to me.  
  
"That dress for Brooke Breeden's party?" he asked, "You're going to look great in it."  
  
I smiled, feeling a surge of joy, an emotion I hadn't felt in awhile. "Thanks Ethan," I said softly. I looked at the ground. "So...whatcha doing at the mall."  
  
"Aw, nothin. Gettin my mom something for her B-day."  
  
Ethan. He was such a sweet guy. Why did I toss him the way I did. None of the guys I had been with had been sweet guys. They'd been rough, rude, and mean. Wham, bam, thank ya ma'am. One night and they were gone.  
  
I had never done more than kiss Ethan Craft. He had never expected more. He knew I was a nice girl.   
  
If he knew me now...  
  
Come to think of it, he probably did know me now. It was a well-known fact all over school that if you wanted to get laid, you go to Kate Sanders. So I guess Ethan did know what a slut I was.   
  
I turned away.   
  
"Wait!" Ethan ran up, and grabbed my shoulder. "Kate..." I turned around, and looked into his eyes. I should have never looked into his eyes. Now I was hooked.  
  
"What do you say you skip the party? Just for tonight? Maybe we could catch a movie at the two-dollar theater or something. Maybe some pizza?" He held out his arm, hoping.  
  
This was the point. The pivotal moment where you had the chance to turn your life around, or go down the dark road. I knew I was going to die either way, but maybe...maybe I could have a little more love in my life. Love would make me live longer. I needed love and joy.  
  
I took Ethan's arm. "Pizza sounds great to me."  
  
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I'm not planning on contineing this, but hey? Who knows? Maybe a sequel.  
  
LAWN GNOMES ARE SEXY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 


End file.
